By freak chance, E and I happen to be starting another round of South Beach Phase One on Ash Wednesday. How odd, for a couple of atheist Buddhist Pagans. I'm also getting back into the gym, which I haven't done much since the holidays. It's not that the schedule is loosening up (oh no, it certainly is not) it's just that I can practically feel myself aging by the day, and I need to reclaim my health from the jaws of inertia.

Ugh. Workload continues to be crippling. Passing the exam failed to suddenly make everything effortless and perfect. Furthermore, the American Massage Association and my school's alumni association are not emailing me back in a timely manner. I feel adrift.

Say, how come you don't get to go to services? I mean, couldn't you go, even if Chad didn't want to go? Heck, I'd go with you to something like that, if it would be OK that I'm not officially one of the faithful. When I was at Catholic college, I'd sometimes just go to services when I was feeling disconnected or depressed. I figured as long as I didn't try to take any sacraments, I wasn't breaking the rules. I can't count the times I took comfort in the various Mary shrines around campus.

It was just a simple logistical matter, this time around - I still can't drive, and things are stressful enough for Chad that I wasn't going to add to it by asking him to take me to church.

That's cool that you'd want to go (and yes, you'd be able to go, just couldn't get communion or the ashes, though you could get a blessing by crossing your arms over your chest to indicate you're not a catholic).

I remember even when I was very *anti* catholic as a college student, I would sometimes seek out the peace and solitude of an empty church and just sit and think and meditate.

aw, thanks! does this mean you're going to kidnap me and use me as your sexual plaything cut off my foot with an axe and cauterize the wound with a blowtorch while making me type a novel make more soap?

Oh, sweetie. I wish I was there to hold you - and then to go to the gym with you and get all sweaty while we grunted and lifted heavy things. Because...do you have any *idea* how hot you are when you're lifting weights? Mmmm. Let me just live with that image a while.

*smooch* You're a prince among women, my darling. Don't worry about me, OK? My boy is taking such good care of me, and I know what a crazy whirl-wind your life is right now. Just know that I am thinking of you. You know, with the naughty thoughts.

I quote a friend, upon hearing about this the first time we went on the diet: "The South Beach Diet? What, is that nothing but mimosas and cocaine? Is it, like, you can have anything you want, as long as you eat it off the bare chest of a 19 year old Latino boy?"

Thanks, hon. I know it'll work out. I'm just feeling a little head-esplody right now.